)
XVIII
CHARLOTTE'S STORY
I do not know. It is hard to write after what has happened.
Hobart says that it is why I am to write it. It is to be a plain
narrative. Besides, he is very busy and cannot do it himself.
There must be some record. I shall do my best and hold out of my
writing as much as I can of my emotion. I shall start with the
Nervina.
It was the first I knew; the first warning. Looking back I cannot
but wonder. No person I think who has ever seen the Nervina can do
much else; she is so beautiful! Beautiful? Why do I say it? I
should be jealous and I should hate her. Yet I do not. Why is it?
It was about eight months after Hobart had left for South America.
I remember those eight months as the longest in my life; because
of Harry. I am a girl and I like attention; all girls do.
Ordinarily he would come over every fortnight at least. After
Hobart had gone he came once only, and of course I resented the
inattention.
It seemed to me that no business could be of enough importance if
he really loved me. Even his letters were few and far between.
What he wrote were slow and weary and of an undertone that I could
not fathom. I--loved Harry. I could not understand it. I had a
thousand fearful thoughts and jealousies; but they were feminine
and in no way approximated even the beginning of the truth.
Inattention was not like Harry.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158